07/26/1979 - Two children play in the water that floats a boat in front of this home in the Alvin area.

Photo By John VanBeekum/Houston Chronicle

Alvin fuel pumps may have been out of gas, but there was plenty of water for the taking. These residents paused at the partly submerged pumps to gaze at the deluge dropped on their city by Tropical Storm Claudette in July 1979.

Photo By Michael Murphy/Houston Chronicle

Rescuers help this woman out of a truck. These residents of the Oakbend subdivision in the Alvin area were among those forced to evacuate because of flooding.

Houston Chronicle shows the Alvin flood of July 25-26, 1979. Tropical Storm Claudette stalled over the neighboring city, dropping a U.S.-record 43 inches on the town in 24 hours. (Houston Chronicle file)

Thirty-five years ago, Alvin residents were locked in a battle with epic rain but didn't realize they were setting a record.

On July 25, 1979, Tropical Storm Claudette arrived in Alvin and settled in, dropping 43 inches over the next 24 hours. That amount still stands as the greatest one-day rainfall in the United States, according to the National Weather Service.

Judge Mike Merkel, former Alvin police chief and now a Brazoria County justice of the peace, said that when the rain started falling that July 25, there was no prediction it would end up being monumental.

He was on routine police patrol and began driving through town, looking for anyone who might need help, a typical police activity on a rainy day.

"It began raining harder and harder, and (patrol) became looking for higher roads so you didn't flood out and assisting motorists who were already stalled out," he said.

In short order, squad cars became ineffective and officers were assigned to high-water vehicles for rescues, he said.

"We began to focus on dump trucks," he said.

Rescues that involved crossing bridges were especially difficult, he said, because many bridges were obscured by high water.

Merkel and other police officers, working with the Texas National Guard, developed a routine for finding bridges and guiding rescuers across them.

Standing on the running boards of National Guard trucks, Merkel and another officer would feel by hand for bridge railings and would station themselves on each side the bridge road.

"The water was typically waist or chest deep," he said. "We would act as a marker for the vehicle to go between us, to aim toward the other side."

It was dangerous duty, because the big trucks passing them created a wake.

"Potentially, it could knock you off the bridge and into the stream," he said.

Merkel said he heard about one incident in which one of the human bridge markers somehow ended up on the outside of the bridge. Rather than directing the Deusenhalf truck safely between the two railings, the confused officer sent the National Guard vehicle into the stream.

Although everyone escaped safely, the truck wasn't found until the water receded in a few days, he said.

Merkel said he wasn't aware that any Alvin resident died as a direct result of the record rain, but the cleanup effort was massive.

In addition to the usual digging out, all first responders had to get tetanus shots after slogging around in nasty water. The mere thought of it was too much for one officer who hated needles.

"The minute they were ready to give him a shot, he passed out," Merkel recalled. "He woke up and said, 'I'm ready,' and they said, 'We already did it.' Here was a guy who put himself on the line many times at many levels, and his big fear was, 'I'm going to get a shot.' "

Many residents at that time didn't have flood insurance, recalled Patricia Roberson, a retired Houston Chronicle executive assistant.

Roberson and her husband and son were stranded in their home for several days after the rain stopped but had relatively minor damage to their house in Alvin's neighborhood known as The Heights.

By fluke, some neighbors' homes had water several feet deep inside, whereas the Roberson's house got only enough to ruin their carpeting and hot water heater, she said.

Most of her neighbors evacuated to area shelters, but the Robersons stayed at home, to their regret, she said.

The 1979 flood wasn't the first disaster to hit the Robersons' house. In 1976, a tornado tore the roof off, and in 1983, Hurricane Alicia left its mark.